“Parole!” and the stranger looked at him skeptically. “Look here, you are evidently working with Madame, and afraid to trust me, but it’s all right. I swear it is! I destroyed the message when I saw I was followed, but I know the contents, and if you will take it––”
“You mistake. I have absolutely no knowledge of Madame’s affairs at present.”
“Then you won’t take it?” and the man’s tones held smothered rage. “So, when put to the test, Captain Jack Monroe is afraid to risk what thousands are risking for the cause, at the front and in secret––a life!”
“It is just as well not to say ‘afraid,’ my good fellow,” 294 and Monroe’s words were a trifle colder, a shade more deliberate. “Do you know what a parole means? I excuse your words because of your present position, which may be desperate. If you are her friend I will do what I can to save you; but the contents of the dispatch I refuse to hear.”
Judithe entered the door as he spoke, and came forward smilingly.
“Certainly; it was not intended that you should. This is the captain of my yacht, and his messages only interest me.”
“Madame Caron!” and Monroe’s tones were imploring, “Consider where you are. Think of the risks you run!”
“Risks?” and she made a little gesture of disdain. She felt so much stronger now that the suspense was over––now that the message was really here. “Risks are fashionable just now, Monsieur, and I always follow the fashions.”
He shook his head hopelessly; words were of no use. He turned away, and remembering that he still held the slip with her account on, he halted and handed it to the stranger, who was nearest him.
“I presume these figures were meant for the master of your yacht,” he remarked, without looking at her, and passed out on the veranda, where he halted at sight of Masterson running up the steps, and the dusty rider close behind.